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M. Bloom

Skytears

It solemnly soars down to the
Treetops, the lampposts, the bald head
Of the eremite who walks by
Soaking in nature's monochrome

It splashes upon the shingles
Falling from heaven to the panes
That separate us from the world
Gripping for life on the clear glass
Yet slowly sliding down in time—
Like a tear from the little boy
Who learns nothing perfect can last—
Into its playful puddle mass

The grey beings in the heavens
Cast them down, down towards the ceilings—
Sometimes with sweet pattering sounds
Sometimes with a godly booming...

How did the silver lining snap

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Alone in the Crowd

Eternal subservience
To the controlled insanity
What a prim and proper reason
To wish to break away
"But no! " the "heroes" faintly cry
As you try to flee their bounds
"Why don't you enjoy it here?
Are you not fond of crowds? "

All their masks are all the same
As they expect a fine reply
But their conformist tunnel vision
Finds truth within your lie
Satisfied the huddled mass
Through life circumambulates
Leaving you with a plastered mask
And immense amounts of hate

"You fool! How could you? You were more! "
Your mind screams inside your skull

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Beneath the Surface

If you dare to look into
A world where you may not be you
Then go ahead and feed the leech
That absorbs all its jagged teeth can reach
For the reflection takes all you are
Every bruise and jagged scar
And puts them for you to plainly see
Or, at least, so it believes

For the mirror can only steal
What one chooses to reveal
As every secret, every story
Remains privately concealed

So, yes, the mirror may have its chance
To take you face with just a glance
But your soul will still flourish indeed
With no outside sources crippling
The gentle spirit within the scars
That can grow up towards those hopeful stars

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Act I, Scene I: The Finale

Why can't existence
Have intermissions?

Temporary suicides
To keep us in line
And make us want
To come back to life—

Then we may find the meaning
That we have searched for
Throughout anthropology.

But, nevertheless,
We must subject life
To diminishing marginal equality
And force the darkness in—

Slowly
Slowly in.

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As They Lived

There is no laughter in the streets
Not the ones this world beholds
And the game still finds lone souls to beat
Though the rules are never told

…as it always is the master

There is no happiness in the sky
Not the one watching the ants below
And the game finds new loved souls to die
Though no worldly remorse ever shows

…as if their lives could end faster

But the story never ends this way
The monochrome and shades of grey
Like a rising sun through the black day
Give way, always, when you turn the page

…as games always make laughter

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